three

That man is a pompous, arrogant, conniving imbecile.”

Penelope’s gaze jerked up from the binder on her desk, straight over the heads of the couple sitting across from her. But she still caught the surprise in Emmaline’s eyes and the immediate tension in Winston’s jaw.

Tucker’s head, bowed over the phone in his hand, entered her office first, followed by his square shoulders. “He won’t even—” Lifting his gaze, he made eye contact with her and froze. “Pardon me.” He tipped his head toward Emmaline. Winston didn’t get the same treatment. “I thought we were having lunch.”

It took everything inside her not to stare pointedly at Emmaline, who had wanted to see every inch of the property again. “We’re running a little long. Can you give me five minutes?”

“Of course.” Tucker began to back out of the door. “Sorry to interrupt.”

But Emmaline was clearly curious. “Well, who’s this?” Her stage whisper stopped Tucker in his tracks, and Penelope crossed and uncrossed her legs beneath her desk, carefully keeping her eyes focused anywhere but on Winston’s face.

“This is my— Have you not met Tucker Westbrook? He’s running for sheriff, and I thought he’d met the whole town by now.”

Emmaline popped from her seat and smoothed her perfectly coiffed blonde waves with one hand, holding out the other as though she was a queen accepting a kiss on her ring. “Emmaline Adams. It’s a pleasure.” Batting her thick lashes at him, she offered a demure smile. Totally appropriate. A little sickening.

Tucker took her fingers in an awkward shake and nodded. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Pressing a hand to her stomach, Penelope choked back the fullness rising in her throat. She tried for a smile not unlike the one Emmaline had just given. She was pretty sure she failed. Badly. “Emmaline is marrying Winston.”

Tucker finally gave the other man a brief glance. “St. Cloud.” His voice was more growl than usual, and his eyes narrowed, but Penelope might have been the only one to notice. Then again, a solid assessment of Winston revealed his hardened posture and tight lips.

The two men had never gotten along. No matter how hard Penelope had tried, they’d barely been civil toward each other all through the two years she’d been with Winston. Of course, that meant she’d had an understanding shoulder to cry on when she needed Tucker. A strong, broad shoulder.

It seemed not much had changed in three years, and the thunder crashing between them was nearly audible.

“I’ll just let y’all finish up here.” Tucker pushed the door open behind him and caught her eye. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

The moment he disappeared, Emmaline slipped into her seat. “Oh my.” Her neck and cheeks flushed. “Well, he’s quite a presence. How long have you and he been . . .” She let her raised eyebrows finish her question.

Penelope immediately looked at Winston, her own cheeks burning. “Oh, um . . . We’re . . . It’s not . . .”

But Winston didn’t give her a chance to finish. Pushing himself up, he reached for Emmaline’s elbow. “We should get going. I have to get back to work.”

Penelope jumped from her chair, following them across the room. “So should I prepare the contract?” There was more than a note of pleading in her voice, and she could just about bite off her tongue. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I’d hate for y’all to miss our last open weekend in August.”

Winston’s gaze narrowed, but the firm line of his lips didn’t move. If she was a betting woman, she’d wager that he’d yet to tell Emmaline about their past. Had he even told her that he’d been engaged? Promised another woman she was the one? Ruined another wedding?

Emmaline was oblivious, tugging on his arm and gazing into his face like he’d invented buttermilk biscuits. Running a bright pink nail down his arm until she clasped her hand in his, she blinked lashes so long they had to be fake. “What do you think, babe? I really love it.”

Penelope held in a full-body shudder and forced her smile to stay put. Her prayers vacillated between asking that he’d agree and begging for him to run.

He looked at his betrothed and then glanced back at Penelope. She could read the doubt in his eyes. But when he turned back toward Emmaline, the tension in his jaw leaked away. “Whatever you want, sweetie.”

Emmaline dipped at the knee and squealed her delight. “We’ll take it!”

Penelope nodded, forcing her smile to show her teeth. “Wonderful. I’ll get the contract put together, and we’ll need the fifty percent deposit when you sign. I’ll call you in a couple days.”

Emmaline’s smile dimmed. “Oh. I’m going out of town tomorrow. But Winston can drop off the deposit and sign the contract, right, honey?”

Perfect. Just perfect.

“Oh, I think we’re going to have the best time planning this wedding.” Emmaline let go of her fiancé and grabbed Penelope’s hands, squeezing them with surprising strength. “I can tell already we’re going to be wonderful friends. Maybe we could even double-date. It’s so hard to find couple friends, you know?”

Nope. Penelope didn’t know. Finding friends had never been her problem. Staying a couple had been.

Penelope nodded anyway, mumbling a maybe, ushering them toward the door, and not daring a look in Winston’s direction. Then they were gone, promising to wait for her call.

And she was left to wonder why she hadn’t denied her relationship with Tucker. Why wouldn’t she? There had never been anything more than friendship between them. Except for that crazy semester when she had hoped and prayed that he’d take her to the junior prom.

That was long gone and forgotten, and she’d never even told him about it. Which left too many questions to answer about why she had let Emmaline—and, moreover, Winston—believe otherwise.

The man in question waltzed back into her office. “Listen, I’m sorry about that.” Tucker waved in the direction of Emmaline and Winston’s retreating figures. “I didn’t realize you had an appointment.”

She smiled as she leaned over to open her bottom desk drawer and pull out her purse. “You never do.”

He shrugged. “I guess I figure if your office door is open, you must be taking visitors.”

Patting the palm of her hand against her sticky forehead just enough to remove the dew there but leave her makeup intact, she laughed. “Or you could remember that the AC in my office is still on the fritz.”

“I could fix that for you.”

She stepped around her desk and led the way out of the office. “Right. And risk Madeline’s wrath that an unlicensed unprofessional touched her precious AC unit?”

He lifted his shoulders again, and the half grin she knew so well danced into place. “I’m willing if you are.”

Locking the door behind them, she debated actually taking him up on the offer. But he had more important things on his plate. He hadn’t planned on this election business, and neither of them could have predicted Buddy Jepson’s ridiculous accusations. That was probably why Tucker had been so worked up when he’d first arrived at her office.

He didn’t motion in the direction they would go. He didn’t ask where she wanted to get lunch. They simply started walking. Together. The shadows of the trees were the same as they always were in May, and she sighed as she stepped into the shade, a brief respite from the early summer sun. It would only get worse, but for now it was bearable. For now she wasn’t turning into a puddle. This was flowy-skirt weather, breathable-cotton temps.

She adjusted her pencil skirt and wiggled against the pool at her lower back, a reminder that she still didn’t know why she hadn’t told Emmaline the truth. She wasn’t dating Tucker Westbrook. Not now. Not ever.

She hadn’t been planning to stomp her high heels against the uneven sidewalk, but suddenly everything about her outfit and this day felt off. So she did, the clack echoing off the brick buildings surrounding Ellis Square. Whether Tucker had been staring at her before her little outburst or not, she wasn’t sure. But he was sure looking at her now.

She cringed. He only raised an eyebrow.

“What? I’m just . . . It’s getting really warm out.” What a ridiculous thing to say. And he knew it.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Nope. That would mean admitting that having Winston back in her life affected more than her job. She was far from ready to claim that, so she started in on him instead. “You want to tell me who has you all riled up?”

He scowled as he opened the door to their lunch spot, Bea’s Diner. She scooted into the cool interior and stopped the hostess before she could suggest patio seating. “We’ll take a corner booth.”

When they were settled into the padded black seats, leaning onto the cool white table, his lips twitched. A smile fought his frown, as though he couldn’t quite decide if he were pleased or angry.

“Maybe you should tell me who’s a ‘conniving imbecile,’” Penelope said. “Which I feel it’s my duty to point out is a bit of an oxymoron. I mean, you’d have to have at least a few wits about you to be conniving.”

He drummed his fingers against the table and narrowed his eyes at her. “Fine then. He’s a callous imbecile.”

“Who’s he?”

“Like you have to ask.”

Buddy Jepson. Of course. She’d never doubted, but this strong of a reaction had to have come from somewhere. “What happened?”

“Well, I went to ask him about the letter.” His voice rose, annoyance seeping from every syllable, then dropped as their waitress appeared—a college-age girl with pink hair that shone against the black-and-white tile décor of the throwback diner. She offered them both a smile, but there was a hesitancy in her motions, as though she wasn’t quite sure what she’d walked into. Penelope gave her best grin and kicked Tucker’s foot beneath the table. He smiled too, which seemed to put the waitress at ease.

They both ordered the usual. Biscuits and gravy and extra sausage for Tucker. She had the Cobb salad—extra dressing. When the waitress disappeared, he picked up like they’d never been interrupted—except for his much quieter tone.

“He says he didn’t write the op-ed.” Pressing his large hands flat against the table, he let out a long sigh. “He said he doesn’t know anything about the letter, but of course he does. I mean, the guy could barely look me in the eye.”

“You went to his office?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “I hope you took a witness.”

Tucker’s shoulders twitched. “I wouldn’t assault him.”

“I never thought you would. But I wouldn’t put it past him to accuse you of it anyway.”

Three small lines formed above the bridge of his nose, and she had the worst urge to use her thumb to smooth them out. Instead she grabbed her napkin and spread it across her lap.

“I guess his assistant was around. And I never closed the door behind me.” He squeezed his hand into a fist and gave the table a soft thump. “I wanted to beat him before because of his bad policies. Now I want to beat him because of his arrogance and dirty politics.” He stared toward the ceiling, his mouth tight and eyes unmoving for a long minute. “It’s just not how I wanted this to go down. You know?”

She did know. But she didn’t know how to fix the problem for him. No number of to-do lists could make Buddy Jepson play by the unwritten rules of courtesy. So they sat in silence.

It was one of her favorite things about her friendship with Tucker. He wasn’t afraid of long pauses, extended moments of silence. And his comfort in the unspoken had rubbed off on her some time before she’d left for college. So she didn’t push him to expound. She just watched the muscle in his jaw clench and relax as he worked through his thoughts.

As the waitress slid their plates in front of them ten minutes later, Penelope finally asked, “So how are we going to win the election?”

Tucker dipped his head and said a quick blessing before answering her question. “I don’t know.” He scooped a big bite onto his fork and shoveled it into his mouth. Gaze lost somewhere over her shoulder, he shook his head.

Her stomach sank to the floor, and she lowered the bite of her salad that was nearly to her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I know that. But . . . but I sympathize with your plight.”

His eyebrows rose in that way that said he thought she was ridiculous but loved her anyway.

“Did you hear back from your aunt Shirley?”

He shook his head. “She’s been MIA for a few days now. I asked my dad where she was, and he said he didn’t have a clue.”

Penelope dropped another bite of bacon and lettuce back to her plate. “Are you worried?”

“Nah. She disappears like this every now and then. Probably on a sixty-somethings singles cruise or learning to surf in Australia.”

That sounded about right for Shirley—single for as long as Penelope had known her. All fun and fire, Shirley had taken them camping as kids, taught them how to play pranks, and helped Penelope pick out a prom dress. But there were weeks when she up and disappeared.

“I do know someone with a key to her house.”

She looked up quickly. “You think there’s anything in the old house?” It had been in the family for at least four generations.

He shrugged. “It’s worth a look. She’s been after me and my parents to go through the junk in her attic for years, threatening to throw out whatever we don’t want. She won’t mind if you join me. You interested in digging through a century of history with me?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Tucker smiled. “Now, you want to tell me why Winston gave me a death glare when he left your office today?”

Scooping up a dollop of gravy with the last of his biscuit, Tucker raised his eyebrows. He expected an answer to his question.

PJ’s cheeks turned pink. Not quite as pink as their waitress’s hair. But close. And it made Tucker smile harder.

He’d lived for two things for as long as he’d known her—to make her flash those dazzling dimples and turn as pink as possible every single day. So far today he was one for two. Given his morning, he’d call her rosy cheeks a win. The fire in her eyes was an added bonus.

“It’s nothing.”

“Try again,” he said.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Nope.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“And yet, you will.” He wasn’t sure what he wanted more—to needle her or to find out what had made that jerk shoot sabers from his eyes. Probably the former. He couldn’t care less about Winston, except that clearly something in PJ’s office had upset him.

She slipped a bill from her purse and dropped it next to her half-eaten salad before sliding from the booth. “I have to get back to the office.”

“Hey!”

She was halfway to the door before he even managed to get his wallet from his pocket, but he threw a couple bills on the table and chased her down. Three steps down the sidewalk, he snagged her elbow and gave her a soft tug, catching her other shoulder before she could stumble.

She kept her head bowed, so he ducked down to look right into her face. “Talk to me, PJ.”

“I just . . . I said something really stupid, and I guess maybe he didn’t like it. Well, I didn’t really say anything. It was more like . . . um . . .” She didn’t look up, couldn’t meet his gaze.

He’d never seen her clam up so completely. He’d seen her with puffy red eyes after hours of crying. He’d seen her laughing so hard she couldn’t get out a word. He’d seen her so lost in thought that the rest of the world had fully disappeared to her.

But this was new.

Maybe if he could get her feet moving, he’d get her mouth moving too. Looping her arm through his, he took a step toward her office. The click-clack of her heels followed along, slowly at first. He kept his pace unhurried to match hers until she finally picked up speed. But she still wasn’t talking.

Fine. She wouldn’t talk? He would. “You know Winston was always jealous of us.”

That snapped her head up and got her heels clacking at twice the speed. “He was not.”

As they reached River Street and its cobbled stones, they waited for a white tour bus to chug past before walking across the tracks and strolling along the river wall. It wasn’t much taller than his waist—a little higher on PJ—but they’d been walking beside it since it reached his chin. PJ liked the water. She liked the wind. She liked the big hotel across the water on the South Carolina shore.

“He sure was, PJ.” Winston had been jealous of it all. That Tucker called her PJ—and she’d never minded—and that he knew all those things about her. But how could he not know when she’d told him a million times, when she’d raced down to the wall and jumped up to see the hotel lit up in all its glory at night? “There’s only one reason he tried so hard to compete with our history.”

“Oh, dear.”

He didn’t even have to ask her to expound. One look in her direction was enough.

“Well, that makes everything worse.” Her little button nose scrunched up, but she didn’t break his gaze. “It also makes sense.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Emmaline—she assumed that . . . well, I don’t think she knows that Winston and I were engaged. And I let her assume something.” She pulled her arm free and pressed her hands against the top of the wall, turning toward the hotel. The wind caught a few stray wisps of her dark hair and teased them about.

“What’d you let her assume? That you didn’t know him?”

She shook her head softly. “I just wanted him to think I’m okay.”

“You are okay.”

Turning back to him, she shoved his arm. “Well, I know that. But the last time I saw him, I was”—she took a slow breath—“not quite as collected. I might have dissolved into tears and run off after throwing his ring at him.” She grimaced. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“It was also three days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.”

“Right?” She sighed. “But that’s still the last memory he had of me.”

Fair point. But that still didn’t explain why Winston had looked like he was ready to tape Tucker’s picture on a dartboard.

PJ cleared her throat as she stepped onto the street, headed back to work, leaving him to chase after her or risk missing what he’d spent the last fifteen minutes trying to get out of her. “So, I might have . . . implied that I was seeing someone.”

The words hit him like a strange punch to the chest. Not painful really, but unsettling, unwelcome. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that PJ would start dating again. Shoot, even he had been on a few dates in the past year. He’d just . . . well, he didn’t like the idea of anyone having the power to break her heart like Winston had. That was all this was—a protective instinct.

But at about the moment he got that settled in his mind, he realized she hadn’t offered one important piece of information. “You told him you were dating? Who?”

She halted mid-stride and pressed her fists to her hips. “I did not tell him I was dating.” Biting her bottom lip and staring toward the too-blue sky, she took a quick breath. “I did not correct Emmaline’s assumption that I was dating someone.” She took off again like a sprinter and already had the old key in the lock by the time he caught up with her.

Clamping his hand over hers to still the movements, his arms nearly wrapped around her, he breathed into her ear, “Who?”

“You.”